by Michael Rigg
Bryce reached forward and unhooked a pair of goggles from a handle near his knee. He reached up to gently pull them over Alice's head. "Here. So you can see. I'll hold on to you and keep you as warm as I can."
She pulled the goggles over her head and looked at him squinting back at her. She nodded slightly and settled into his arms as Lucien gunned the engine.
~~~~~~~
Bradford Thorne boarded the airship Venture with a bright, broad smile. Dressed in a slick brown suit and silk tie, his handlebar freshly waxed, the head of Thorne & Hearse made his way along the promenade with a cadre of naval officers all dressed smartly in navy blue uniforms patterned with brass buttons. The Venture was part of the "Pride of the Imperial Fleet," a line of four immense warships that had seen combat in nearly every conflict the Empire had ever fought. Fortified with armor plates and a thick metal mesh around the outside of its blimp, the airship was virtually unsinkable, though she sported plenty of knocks and dings from Confederate canons over the past few decades in one corporate conflict or another.
Today was all about peace, a peace that would solidify the unity of nations for centuries to come, all under the banner of the Imperial United States. The discovery and acquisition of Atlantis and all her secrets would forever change history. No more warfare, no more conflict, just peace under the leadership of corporations like Thorne & Hearse. Well... Thorne & Thorne.
As he made his way to the bridge, Bradford Thorne daydreamed about the lovely and intelligent Susanne Norris. She was just an underling, something to be used and cast aside, but there was something in her that Thorne wanted to hold on to. For one, she seemed rather brave for a woman. That was a rare quality these days. Usually, women were weak and groveling, offering anything up to and beyond their humility as they begged for their lives, but lovely Susanne held her ground while he taunted her. And now, the very lovely, and he hoped future, Mrs. Thorne, was sleeping comfortably in her new Manhattan apartment overlooking the lair of that bastard ghoul, Teivel Hearse. With her in his employ—and eventually his bed—Thorne felt the frustrations of life quickly ebbing away. He would be king of the corporate world. Emperor. And she would sit at his side looking lovely, a feminine face on a masculine world.
On the bridge he met Admiral Terrace. The fluffy starched naval man bristled at the presence of a civilian on his ship, but Thorne only smirked in response.
"Welcome aboard the Venture, Mr. Thorne. The fleet is ready. I'm sure my purser will be happy to show you to your quarters."
Thorne waved that off as though dismissing a bothersome servant. "No no, I'm keen to get underway. I think I'll remain here until we're over water."
Terrace ground his teeth, but then nodded slightly. "Very good, sir." Then, to his bridge crew, "All hands prepare to get underway. Mr. Sparley, you have the bridge."
"Aye, sir."
Then the admiral moved away from Thorne and out to the promenade running along the opposite side of the ship.
Thorne raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands behind his back. He bounced twice on his heels then, seeing just about all he cared to see, about-faced and headed off to find the purser and his room.
A moment later, the Admiral returned to the bridge, pleased to see it was clear of civilians.
As he made his way through the airship's interior, mostly battleship gray with brass fixtures and polished oaken hand rails, Thorne thought about what Hearse said regarding this "key" person he wanted to find. Hearse said something about needing this “key” to access the riches of Atlantis, but Thorne knew better. It was a delaying tactic on the part of the pathetic ghoul. Hearse wanted to have the riches for himself but needed his day-sleep like the sycophantic vampire Thorne truly believed him to be.
No matter. The Imperial fleet would be underway in moments and he'd be boarding one of the submersibles to the greatest prize the world has ever known. He stopped at an opening between sections of the ship, an armored overlook next to a covered cannon. Thorne strolled up to it and leaned on the edge as he gazed out at the New Yorke skyline, airships and aerocars buzzing around her iron skyscrapers like gnats.
He wondered what secrets Atlantis would reveal to him, what wealth and power they would bestow. He wasn't sure what to expect, but if the lore was correct, he would find himself bathed in riches with the power to command all that he surveyed, standing alone as master over the power of the world. And the first order will be to enslave a certain troublesome ghoul before bringing him to the nation's capitol for a public execution and declaration of war on all ghouls everywhere. Thorne smiled to himself as he looked out over his city, the soon-to-be capitol city of his New World. He would be a hero, a saint, the man who rid the world of the bottom-feeding, bloodsucking dirt-sleeping ghouls.
Sighing before giving his handlebar mustache a twitch, Thorne reached up and hit an emergency call button above the wide open-air portal. He noted the location on the small brass plaque riveted to the metal plate over the gun barrel.
A voice crackled back, "Bridge."
He pressed the talk switch. "This is Mr. Thorne at gun emplacement B, deck one. Please send the purser to meet me here."
Releasing the switch, Thorne listened. After a moment without a response, he pressed again. "Bridge?"
"He's on his way, Mr. Thorne."
Press. "Good."
Thorne released the switch and leaned out over the railing again. Oh, but if not for the minor nuisances like these, he thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose and winced away the building frustration. He entertained himself before the purser's arrival by daydreaming about Teivel Hearse's public beheading, seeing himself standing before throngs of adoring fans while dressed in silks and velvet, the purple and black of his new royalty.
"There is no key," he sneered as he whispered the assurance to himself. Bradford Thorne now commanded the bulk of the Imperial Navy. It cost him the profits of Thorne & Hearse for the next two years, but by tomorrow morning it wouldn't matter. And, as for Atlantis and this “key” the ghoul spoke of, the only key Thorne needed came in the form of a volley of torpedoes. If the doors to Atlantis were closed, he would open them.
"Mr. Thorne, sir."
Thorne turned and smiled to the purser, a portly bloke with a bushy gray mustache and spectacles at the end of his nose. The man touched the brim of his porter's hat and nodded slightly. Thorne looked him up and down. "You remind me of my old partner. Aren't you a bit... stocky... for a battleship crewman?"
The man's mustache bristled, but his eyes twinkled with merriment. "Of course, sir. The Venture had recently sailed on a museum run, sir. I was brought aboard to care for the civilian patrons, sir. My regular duties lie aboard the Loftwind.... Sir."
Thorne found himself annoyed. He waved a hand. "Lead me to my quarters."
"Sir! This way, sir." The purser turned and led Thorne inside.
~~~~~~~
Pandora lay alone in the damp darkness of the abandoned subway tunnel alcove, her back rolling with pain from the rocks under her body, her wrists and ankles burning where the ropes pulled at her to the stakes keeping her pinned on her back. She had slept off and on since Teivel Hearse brought her here, her memories a burning swirl of twin red fires—his eyes—and their power. With her hands held bound within the thick metal and leather gloves, she couldn't cross her fingers to cast magics. All she could do was wait it out and endure her torture.
Each passing second was an hour of pain.
Her vague wash of memories were replete with the soft British accent of the King of Ghouls, the hissing chitter of the subservient ghouls who now guarded her, and the pain of the rocks under her body, a pain that intensified when her captor's weight had pressed down upon her.
Pandora shuddered and tried to press out the only solid surviving mem
ory, a memory she felt he wanted her to have, of his cold breath on her neck as he plunged repeatedly inside her, making her yelp with the pain of her broken virginity. Though she had tried to clamp her eyes closed, to block him out as he forced himself into her again and again, the bastard ghoul used his own magics to force her to look at him, even to appraise his thin gray nakedness as he touched her, kissed her shoulder, her breasts, just moments before he unceremoniously rammed himself in between her legs and made her scream.
Her eyes and temples were cold with the run-off of tears cooled by the damp air in the tunnel. She opened her eyes and blinked, a move that brought a flurry of hissing and skittering around her from the ghouls on watch.
Pandora screamed. She screamed at the memory of that thing inside her, screamed to force it out of her mind, screamed for help, screamed for—
Daddy.
She felt him die, felt the life memory within her suddenly wink out and that was what brought her awake. Pandora lifted her head and looked around. Her eyes were used to the din, so she could easily make out the black shapes and red eyes of the monsters around her, her white gown still spread open, torn up the middle. She could see her own breasts glowing gray in the din, the dark patches from the marks of the ghoul's mouth. She could feel rather than see her legs and arms stretched painfully wide where they were staked and chained into the hard earth. Her body quivered with cold.
Hearse was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps it was dark and he'd gone off to feed. Maybe he simply left to sleep in another corridor away from the rest of his filthy kinsmen. Maybe he wasn't far, just around a corner, listening to her sobs and drinking in her anguish. He hadn't returned when she screamed, so she figured she was either hidden deep within a tunnel where no one would hear, not even her echoes, or he was simply gone.
Turning to the ghoul closest to her right hand, a gray skinned diminutive creature with pronounced cheekbones and hair matted with dried clay, she said, "Where is he?"
The monster cocked its head as it tried to comprehend. Those behind it flinched back.
"Where. Is. He?"
No response. But, the ghoul leaned closer to her. Drool gathered and dripped from its lower lip. The cold slime landing on her wrist between her bond and the heavy leather glove. If not for their master's order, Pandora knew she'd be the ghoul's breakfast.
She played it. "Hungry?"
Again, no response, but the amount of drool increased. The monster's gray tongue appeared and traced its lips as its eyes moved from her face to her neck, then her body. She writhed as best she could, arching her back off the cold stone and moaning slightly.
"You want me, don't you? You're very hungry, aren't you?"
This time a nod. It was very slight, but it was there. Good. They understood.
The eyes returned to her, and beyond the red and yellow discoloration, Pandora could see that this poor wretch was once a human like her, once a young boy who had been taken for the witch treatments like her. Only he didn't become a witch. He became this... thing.
The ghoul checked himself and sank back, turning his eyes away as he recalled the order given by his suited master. Despite his cravings, his intense hunger, none of them were to feed on the master's pet.
Death, Pandora knew, would be quick if she could only break the bond. If she could convince them to override his orders and think for themselves, she'd be gone quickly, consumed to be nothing more than ghoul scat spread deep throughout these tunnels. There was no way she could fight them. Her magics were useless without the ability to cross her fingers.
Then the idea struck. Pandora's eyes flashed. She turned toward the monster who shrank away. "Hey... You...."
The ghoul glanced, but kept his face turned away, his posture showing his shame and self-loathing.
"Why not just a taste? Surely your master wouldn't mind if you just had a taste of me?"
It looked at her, tilted its head like a dog listening for a distant whistle.
"Uh huh. How about it?" Pandora licked her lips, then made an attempt at undulating her body again, strained her bare legs against the bonds that held her at the ankles. "Just a bite. He wouldn't know."
The ghoul leaned closer, its nostrils flaring as it sucked in her scent. One of its companions reached out to touch its arm, to draw it back, but Pandora's new friend smacked the other way. The ghoul crawled toward her, its drool patting on the glove, her wrist, her arm, her shoulder as it drew closer and closer.
The ghoul opened its mouth, showing rows of crudely pointed and rotting gray teeth, then it lowered its head toward her shoulder.
"No!"
The ghoul reared back, blinked, confused by the sudden reversal on its meal's invitation. It scowled at her in frustration.
"He'll see the mark. You can't taste me where he'll see."
The others in the chamber hissed in agreement, some of them whimpering and smacking their own heads with long-fingered clawed hands. The would-be diner turned his eyes down her body and saw that the master's attention had been everywhere on her. Pandora saw the ghoul start to lose hope.
Pandora lifted her iron-and-leather hand. "Here... My hand."
The ghoul shook his head and reared back.
Damn. Maybe they knew. Even so, she had to try. The pitiful creature was hungry and wouldn't get a chance to eat as long as his master kept him here. It was her only way.
"Aren't you hungry?"
A slight nod.
She waved her hand slightly. "You can take a finger, the little one."
The ghoul tilted its head in consideration, then shook its head and reared back.
Pandora took a deep breath and locked on his eyes. "Listen to me... Think."
The creature stared at her, leaning slightly toward her voice, its eyes locked on her lips.
"Remove the glove... Take the finger... Replace the glove. He will never know."
The ghoul glanced around to his companions as if seeking advice. The others shook their heads and reared back, all fearful of the backlash should any of them endorse the touching of their Master's toy.
Pandora nodded at the ghoul when it turned back to her. "You can do this. He will never know if you replace the glove. You could take all the fingers if you like." She turned her head and nodded toward her other hand. "All ten. He'll never know." She lowered her voice and whispered seductively as she might to a lover, the irony of her situation locked in a room within her mind, “Come to me... enjoy me.... Oh, they're so good, filled with blood... crunchy with bone.”
The ghoul pondered for a long moment before crawling up to her. As the others hissed and screeched louder, Pandora's new friend reached down and began to unlace the heavy leather glove.
She smiled slightly and sucked air through her teeth. "That's it, baby... That's it.... Oooh, I can't wait to feed you."
~~~~~~~
The purser stopped at Thorne's cabin door and indicated it with his hand. Then he stepped back, bowed slightly, and went on his way.
"Just a moment," Thorne called out to him.
It was preposterous. How dare Admiral Terrace give him tiny quarters deep within the bowels of the airship, and so close to the damnable noise of those engines. "This is a mistake. These are not my quarters!"
The purser stopped and turned. He smiled and touched the brim of his hat. "But they are, sir. Good day, sir." And he was gone, back up the steps to the upper deck, leaving Thorne to stare after him with a stutter lost on his lips.
Thorne grumbled under his breath and vowed that the vengeance of taking the man's job would be sweet enough to stave off the frustration that built within him. Turning to the door, he pressed down on the handle and pushed it open.
Despite the lack of windows and thrumming cacophony of the en
gines, the interior cabin was well appointed. Small, with no headroom (he had to duck slightly before entering), it was nonetheless decorated as he would have liked. All of the belongings he desired for the trip were here, from the gold gilded throne of his office to the wide mahogany desk, the African statues, the tapestries. Forcing a smile as he nodded with reluctant acceptance, Thorne moved to the mahogany desk and opened his cigar box. He drew out one of the cigars and sniffed along its length.
Then he noticed the other box.
A wooden box sat behind the desk on the seat of the throne. It was an ornate wooden cube measuring about 18 inches on each side. A red bow and card decorated the top. Setting the cigar aside, Thorne rounded the desk and approached it. It was beautiful, obviously hand-carved. It was exquisite though not recognizable as part of his collection.
The card read, TO: My Darling Bradford FR: Your Loving Susanne.
"Oh, my love," Thorne smiled as he lifted the card and sniffed her perfume. His heart swelled with self pride and adoration as he realized he'd made the right choice entrusting this woman to do his dirty work. He was overflowing with relief that he hadn't pulled the trigger on that crossbow.
He flipped the card over and read: I know how fond you are of nice things. I am sure you will find that the contents of this box will help you get ahead in life.
"Ah, my dear," he sighed as he pulled off the bow, then unclasped the latch to open the box's lid. "Of course your penmanship is lacking, but you won't need to—" He froze, his jaw stammering, as he stared into the eyes of Susanne Norris's severed head.
The cold voice behind him said, "It was rather a trying time to get her to part with it."
Thorne screamed. A high-pitched shrill sound erupted from his throat as he jumped and spun to face Teivel Hearse.
The ghoul stood as he had when Thorne first met him, dressed in a black velvet suit trimmed with silver, that damnable thick veil with the lenses covering the face below the top hat.
Thorne screamed again and backed away. He bumped the throne and the box toppled over. Susanne's head rolled out with a thump-thump, her blood-matted blond hair staining the Persian rug below the desk. "No! No! Stay back! Monster!"
